Tiger Lily
by Tigris Lilium
Summary: One case that brings back memories for one CSI. Another CSI questions his decisions. GSR.


Title: Tiger Lily – Chapter 1

Author: BluesyEyes

Rating: T, romance/general

Summary: One case that brings back memories for one CSI and questions his decisions for another CSI. GSR

A/N: I do not in any way own CSI or the characters mentioned in the following story.1 Please review: constructive criticism is always welcome!

Blood was everywhere. She looked to the left and she saw blood. It dripped from the wall. She looked at the body, sighed and shook her head. A woman lay on the bad, beaten and battered. It brought too many memories back.

A knife lay beside the woman's body, but she had a feeling that there would be no fingerprints on it. It was brutal. It was unnerving. It was scary. Her heart beat a little faster than usual, thinking about her past.

Her father, carelessly beating her mother. Her mother, fierce fully taking each blow. Herself, sitting in the corner of her bedroom her nose in a book, humming a song, trying to drown out the sounds echoing in her house.

Her father, voice lowering. Her mother, sobbing as she picked up the knife. Herself, concerned from the silence. She had become accustomed to the yelling so when it stopped, there was reason for concern. So when the pounding stopped, she rose from her chair in the corner and opened her door outside.

Her father, hands in defence, bloody hands, hands of hate. Her mother, threatening, knife raised, dagger raised. Herself, walking through the long hallway, down the stairs, wondering what was going on.

Her father, blood dripping down his body, propped up against the wall. Her mother, bloody hands, knife dropped on the ground. Herself, staring in shock. The blood, it was everywhere. She ran back upstairs and picked up the phone. She needed help; she wanted help.

She had always thought her life was normal, but it wasn't. She had always thought that you grew up that way.

She shook her head and looked back at the case. It was different: this case wasn't about her family and it was the woman who was dead.

Beaten to death.

"Excuse me." Sara said softly as she shifted to exit the kitchen to the outside. She thought that the best thing to do would be to take herself off of the case; it's a conflict of interest. She'd never be able to pull it off. Nick and Warrick would ask her questions, asking to pry into her life.

There was only one person who wouldn't pry, and he was passing her on the way inside.

Was it hard? Sometimes, especially when dealing with a case that hit close to home.

Not to soon afterward did Grissom step outside to ask her if she was all right. "I'm fine." She said and turned to go back in.

"Sara, I really think you should take yourself off of this case. It's a conflict on interest."

Conflict of interest. How did she know that was what she would say? "And if not?"

"I'll remove you myself." He said softly, his eyes watching his feet. Although his voice was kind enough and knew that he was speaking only in concern for her, she was still upset. She could do it her own way. She didn't need him to tell her what to do. Inside she was yelling, screaming at him and outside:

"Fine." She said as she turned from him and walking down the sidewalk. Why did it look so familiar to her? She scowled and got into her car and drove off.

Grissom rubbed his hands over his beard and shook his head. He didn't know if he did the right thing, sending her home like that. He didn't really give her an option. He really should have explained that there was another case across town that could have her full attention, but he didn't really have the chance to. He was too busy gauging her reaction.

He flipped open his cell to tell Catherine to get a hold of Sara.

He turned into the house, immediately faced with the picture of Sara's memories. When she had first told him, this is similar to what he pictures, but instead a father standing in the pool of blood.

Warrick was already processing the body so he looked around the kitchen, his flashlight on and focussing on select parts to examine the life the dear woman must have lived.

Her kitchen was the same as any kitchen, not overly clean and not overly messy. Not like his own kitchen. Dishes were lying about, spilled water over the counter and onto the floor. Water was sprayed against the window on top of the sink. He took a picture of the knives inside of the kitchen sink. He stuck his hand in the sink and pulled out a knife. A possible murder weapon or a possible prototype for a murder weapon: a steak knife. But it was lying next to the body. He bagged it anyway.

He finished looked at the kitchen and moved to the adjoining room, the living room. He looked at the piano. He imagined her playing it on days that her partner wasn't hitting her. He pictured her pouring in all her pain when he was gone.

He stumbled upon some pictures and shined his light on them. They were happy pictures, wedding pictures. The woman smiled, her eyes shone and her smile glowed. She had brown hair, although the hair that was in the kitchen now was a bloody mass. Her eyes were brown and her smile was big.

Why did she look familiar?

His eyes turned to the partner in the picture, who he would only assume was her husband. He looked older, at least fifteen years older.

His breathe turns as he looked at the two in the picture. He hesitantly brought his hand up to it to take hold of the picture frame. He went to the kitchen and showed Warrick.

"Where did he go?" He paused, "Possible suspect?"

Warrick looked at the picture, brows furrowed together. At the corner of his eye, he gauged Grissom's exterior, but know that nothing could be found. He looked back at the picture and nodded, "I'll call Brass."

Grissom looked back at the woman and kneeled down. Her hair was covering her face, so he brought her hand up to push it back.

He had seen her before, a look-a-like. He had seen the girl with the butterfly tattoo. Debbie Marlin. He'd never forget her.

Now he had no reason to forget the woman slouched in front of him, bathed in her own blood and knowing that just maybe her older husband had killed her.

He looked back out the front door. Maybe he should sign himself off the case as well.


End file.
